Author 












The Love Adventures 


LOLA MORTZ 


IMPORTANT 


The attention of the public is called to the fact that the hook is fully 
protected by copyright in the United States. 







The Love Adventures 


OF 


LOLA MORTZ. 


^ HY 

M. HOLLAND. 



CIIICACiO; (il^OOO 
M. Holland, Publisher. 


• Hill L- 



copvrightkd 1897 

M HOJ.LAXI) 

(All Rights Reserved.) 


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THE LOVE ADVENTURES 

. . . OF . . , 

LOLA MORTZ 


There never had been a time, apparently, when he 
had not been “old” Brown.” But in point of fact, he 
was not so old even now. Many a man beyond him in 
years still bore an appearance of middle-aged rigor. 

But George Brown had always shunned that contact 
with men which conduces to such healthful vigor. 

A recluse and scholar, a kind, shy, absent minded 
man he had ever been, and — until recently, at least, 
one would so have said — ever would remain. 

His slight bent figure and his mild blue eyes in the 
clear-cut, clean-shaven face were familiar to all children 
in the village, who liked him for the sundry small “tips” 
he was wont to* bestow upon them, and whose mothers 
would observe that, being such a good man and so fond 


I 


of children, it was a pity old Brown had never married. 

At these remarks Mrs. Smith, his housekeeper, would 
screw up her nose in contempt. 

“It’s just that’s thinkin’ of marryin’! And who’s he 
to marry.? Some meddlin’ widow that would be for 
rulin’ him around at his time of life? Or some highty- 
tighty girl that ’ud lead him a dance, a-racketin’ him 
about. I guess not!’’ 

“Well,’’ remarked one of Mrs. Smith’s cronies one 
day, “he’s going to Mortzs’ pretty often, and there’s 
the niece there now, the one they call by that outland- 
ish name — Lol — Lola — or somethin’.’’ 

And true it was that George Brown was going to 
Mortzs’ very often of late; and also true, though he hiin- 
self poor man, had been a long lime in finding it out, 
that what he went for was the sight of Lola Mortz’s 
sweet, flower-like young face and her pensive violet 
eyes. 

When he did make the discovery the experience was 
an extraordinary one to Brown. And that which made 
it extraordinary was that it was the first of its kind. 

In the beginning he felt as though it were almost a 
sacrilege for him to be going there with this acknowl- 


2 


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edged feeling for the young girl in his heart. But Lola 
had come to count upon his visits, and his gentle kind- 
ness made a little sunshine for her, poor child! 

For the Mortzs, though worthy enough people in 
their way, were perhaps a little hard on this young 
daughter of a brother who had always been improvident 
and unlucky, and had died at last, leaving nothing be- 
hind him but this pale-faced slip of a girl for them to 
care for. 

And so for months George Brown had walked over to 
the Mortzs’ place almost every day, sometimes with a 
book for the girl, sometimes with a little bunch of sweet- 
smelling flowers. 

And she would generally be waiting for him with a 
glad smile of welcome on her lips, which repaid him for 
everything. In the self-abnegation of his honest, rev- 
erent heart, George Brown would have been content to 
hold this place of an old, tried, and kind friend towards 
the young girl to the end of her chapter, doubtless 
would have done so, had he not, on coming upon her 
suddenly one day, found her in tears. 

Lola had tried to conceal her emotion quickly, but it 
was too late, and at sight of George Brown’s kind. 


3 


questioning eyes she had broken down again, and sob- 
bed out the story of her trials. 

It was nothing very definite, perhaps, but Brown 
kn-rw that this delicate young plant was pining away for 
the lack of sunshine and a fostering care. And it 
seemed irremediable, as she had no other friends, except 
in one way. 

At the thought of this one way George Brown’s heart 
beat quickly. He cast a glance at the young creature 
who sat beside him, with her hands clasped listlessly in 
her lap, and the sad eyes seeming to look ont into a joy- 
less future, and quite suddenly he spoke. 

lie could give her a comfortable home, and care, and 
— ah, how much love! — at least. 

When, a couple of hours later, he walked homewards 
towards the pretty house which Mrs. Smith’s care kept 
in a state of order which could only be adequately de- 
scribed by her own term of “apple-pie,” it seemed to 
George Brown as though all the world were changed. 

Surely the sky was very blue that day; he never re- 
membered to have seen it so blue, and the sunshine was 
unusually brilliant, and what happy faces people had as 
they passed him! 


4 


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When he got home, Mrs. Smith was waiting for him 
in a clean cap. He passed in, and then looking into 
the broad expanse of her hard honest countenance with 
a smile that lit up all his mild thin features, he said : 

“You must congratulate me, Mrs. Smith. You’ve 
been faithful to my service many years, and you’ll like 
to know. I’m sure. Miss Mortz is going to be my wife.’’ 

At the time Mrs. Smith found nothing to say but 
“Good Heavens!” which exclamation she delivered 
herself of with considerable force. 

And it was just as well that her breath failed her 
after this, for the next outburst would assuredly have 
been: 

“Well, I hope you won’t have no cause to rue the 
day nor the deed!” 

Considering the disparity in years, it did seem to Mrs. 
Smith that this result could not fail to come about. 

When all was settled, and Lola, by George Brown’s 
wish, had come to the solitary old house in order to see 
if there were any changes she would wish to make in t 
ere she became its mistress, Mrs. Smith took her by the 
hand, and looking into the fair, lily-like face, observed: 

“ Well you look like a good one, and I’m going to hope 


5 


that you are. The man you are going to marry ain’t 
just as young as another, maybe, but you kin get down 
on your knees every night and thank God for givin’ you 
such a good husband. There ain’t another such man 
outside of Chrisendom,” concluded Mrs. Smith, who 
was something of a Mrs. Partington in her way. 

“Yes, I know he is very, very good,’’ said Lola softly 
and grateful. 

“And I hope you’re properly fond of him,’’ added 
Mrs Smith with a keen look of enquiry. 

And Lola, opening wide her violet eyes, that were 
like a child’s for candor and innocence replied with a 
certain surprise: 

“O, yes! Of course I am fond of Mr. Brown.’’ The 
eyes filled with tears. “He has been my kindest 
friend.’’ 

The two then, a friendly relation being thus estab- 
lished, went over the house together. 

“She’s a good, modest girl. I’m thinking,’’ was Mrs. 
Smith’s mental comment, when Lola’s slim young 
figure had tripped down the garden-walk. “I hope 
it’ll last. If ever any man deserves a good wife, he 
does.’’ 


6 


Meanwhile Lola had reached the gate. It was late 
summer, and she and George Brown were to be married 
in the autumn. 

There was a brilliant sunset in the west and Lola, in 
whose nature there was an instinctive thirst for beauty 
in every form, turned her head to look in that direction. 

In this way she ran against a stalwart masculine fig- 
ure, which, at that instant, approached the gate. 

She started back and glanced up into a pair of merry, 
handsome blue eyes, bent in some surprise upon her. 

The owner of the eyes stepped aside and raised his 
hat in ready courtsey, and Lola, with a slight inclina- 
tion of her head, passed on. 

She walked home very straight. Her cheeks were 
warm, though''she was not conscious of it. 

Just before entering the house she paused, and glanc- 
ing backward, murmured to herself; 

“I wonder who that young man could have been?” 

The young man in question had, on his side, looked 
very unreservedly after Lola’s young figure as it passed 
up the long village street. And his comment upon the 
meeting had proved much more outspoken and definite 
than hers. 


7 


“By Jove! Wonder how so much youthful bloom and 
radiant beauty came to be issuing from my venerable 
old uncle’s abode. I’ll have to look into this. I de- 
clare, there is the old fellow this moment, as I’m a liv- 
ing sinner!’’ 

He started forward, George Brown, coming toward 
him, stopped and stared. 

“Well, uncle, forgotten me quite, have you?” laughed 
the young man. 

“Charlie — Charlie Brown! Bless my soul! Welcome, 
boy, welcome! Come in, come in!’’ and a minute later 
the young fellow was being presented to Mrs. Smith. 

“My deead brother’s son, Mrs. Smith,” said George 
Brown with a gentle solemnity. “I was very fond of 
brother Charles. He was the handsomest of the family, 
and,” with a gentle smile lighting up all his mild face, 
“it seems to me that Charlie has taken after him!” 

Charlie laughed good humoredly. 

“And now tell me, uncle, who the young lady is with 
whom I had the pleasure of an encounter at the gate, 
just now. She is as fair as the morning, and has eyes 
like blue violets.” 


8 


Before George Brown could make any reply, Mrs. 
Smith broke in curtly: 

“That was Miss Lola Mortz, as is to marry your uncle 
sir. Excuse the liberty o* me answering.” 

“The deuce!” Charlie exclaimed within himself. 

George Brown smiled a little shyly. 

“I’m much too old to be thinking of marrying so 
young a girl, I suppose you are thinking, my boy; but 
you see she hasn’t many friends, and I’ll try to make 
the child happy.” 

“And indeed you ain’t too old to marry*anybody,” 
cried Mrs. Smith with indignant force. 

“Never mind, Mrs Smith; that will do,” remonstrated 
George Brown, and Mrs. Smith, taking the mild reproof 
less gently than it had been administered, bounced from 
the room. 

“I don’t like the looks of that whipper-snapper,” she 
confided to herself when outside. “He’ll make trouble 
yet, with his curly hair and his big shoulders, and the 
swagger of him. And Mr. Brown to be appologising to 
him or the likes of it, berause he’s to marry the girl he’s 

chosen!” And Mrs. Smith’s soliloquy ended with a sniff. 

* * * * 

* * 


9 


As the shorter autumn days came over the land, some 
gray and bleak, and fraught with that sadness that ac- 
companies the dying of the year, some gorgeous with the 
red and gold of map*es and blackberry vines, and yet 
sad, too, and filled with that nameless, indescribable 
feeling of premonitions inseparable from the season, 
there was much hurrying to and fro in “old Brown’s’’ 
qu iet house, now quiet no longer. 

All was being put in readiness for the young bride 
and the neighbors found an exhaustless topic of con- 
versation in appropriate discussions of the wall-paper, 
and new furniture, and changes here and additions 
there, which were being made to ensure her comfort and 
happiness. 

“Seems as though he couldn’t do enough for the girl. 
And she ain’t been ever made much of at home, Lola 
Mortz ain’t. It’ll all be new to her, I guess. Well, 
old Brown’s a good man — no better ever lived.’’ 

“All the same Lola ain’t looking very happy,’’ re- 
marked one ancient dame shaking her head. “I see 
her yesterday. She was as white as chalk. I thought 
she looked very down. 

George Brown, happily unconsious of such comments 


lo 


as the last, was wending his way towards the Morizs’ 
house. 

As he walked, the tall slight figure bent forward a 
little, less from the weakness of age than from the habit 
contracted during many years spent in poring over 
books, the mild eyes fixed upon the ground; he was 
meditating whether there were still any little things 
which Lola might like of which he had not thought. 

This had been his sole preoccupation for weeks. God 
had been very kind to him. He had thrown this 
beautiful young in his path for him to love. He ac- 
cepted the boon reverently, with a sort of fear. The feel- 
ing of disparity in his years and hers was always before 
him. All his efforts were concentrated on a perpetual 
striving to atone to her, as it were, for this difference. 

So lost in thought was he as he neared the strip of 
ground that surrounded Lola’s home, that he at first 
did not notice the sound of voices coming in suppressed 
tones from behind the high hedge that screened those 
within the garden from the gaze of the passers-by. 

But he stopped very suddenly, for he thought all at 
once that he heard Lola speak, and was it possible? yes, 
she was sobbing. 


“No, no, don't plead with me, please," the girl was 
saying in a low agonizing whisper. “Go — please, go. 
It is of no use. I must not lis en to you. I owe him 
everything — everything!” 

“Yoi don’t owe him the mere form ot an allegiance 
when your heart is given to someone else, darling. 
Lola dearest," the pleading passionate voice rang out, 
“you do love me — you cannot deny it. Then you belong 
to me, not to him.” 

What had come over the world in this one short min- 
ute? The sunshine seemed to have been blotted out 
and a cold wind sprang up and lifted the deaa leaves 
that strewed the road and swept them up into little 
heaps. 

George Brown stirred blindly. He touched his fore" 
head with his hand once or twice and turned back 
whence he had come. He did not quite realise at first 
just what happened. He knew afterward that he had 
been dazed there for awhile. 

He repeated to himself once or twice slowly; 

“Yes, of course. Charlie loves her and she loves 
him. How could they help it? It is natural — natural. 
I ought to have known this before!" 


12 


“Good Heavens!” cried Mrs. Smith when she saw his 
face. “Wha’ has happened.^” 

“Nothing — nothing!” And yet he seemed to have 
grown quite old — really old — since he had left the house 
an hour before. 

He went into his room and locked the door. 

A little later he came out and asked whether young 
Brown had returned. The latter who had just came in 
heard the inquiry and stepped forward. 

“I wanted to see you, sir,” the young man said. “I 
have — I got a letter this morming which — which will 
compel me to leave you sooner than I thought. In fact 
I think of going home tomorrow morning. ” 

George Brown bent a long look on the young man’s 
face. It was very pale and haggard. 

“Bless her!” thought he who indeed was an old man. 
“She was faithful, poor child!” 

There was a pause, and then he said, very qvietly 
and kindly : 

“No need for you to go, Charlie. I know the reason 
for your wanting to leave here. I did not mean to be 
an eavesdropper, my boy, but I overheard some words 


13 


you and Lola spoke today in the grounds down by the 
Mortzs’.” 

J 

“You — you heard,” stammered the young man, red- 
dening fnriously. 

“And I want you to stay, Charlie. Do you under- 
stand? If Lola loves you — that is enough. 

“Uncle! May God bless you for this! I — I don’t 
know what to say.” 

And so it was settled. Very quickly, very quietly. 
George Brown would not have the original wedding- 
party put off — would not alter any of the dispositions he 
had made for that event. Everything was to be the 
same — only the bridegroom was to be another. 

Never once did he break down. When Lola, burst- 
ing into tears, cried : 

,,You are too good to me. 1 do not deserve so much. 
I deserve nothing from you but contempt,” he hurriedly 
whispered: 

“Hush, hush, child! Never say that! It is better so 
— far better. Youth loves youth — it is natural. 1 
should have known you could not have loved an old 
fellow like me, dear. It was just an old man’s romance 
— over now. And you and Charlie must be happy.” 


14 


That was the day before the wedding. 

The next day George Brown stood upon the doorstep, 
with a smile upon his face, and saw the young people 
drive off. 

When the honeymoon was over they must return, he 
had said, and his home was to be theirs. 

“A little young wife about us will do us both good, 
Mrs. Smith,” he told the faithful old woman who had 
stood by and witnessed all these changes with a furious 
face. Nor was it less furious now. - 

“If you live to see it,” shesaid within herself grimly. 

But she knew not that her soul would prove so good 
a prophet. 

One night, a few days before Charles Brown and his. 
wife were expected back, she was hastily summoned to 
his bedside. 

The doctor shook his head. He was afraid there was 
nothing to be done. All through the hours of the night 
they watched. 

Towards dawn George Brown opened his eyes, groped 
feebly with his hands and murmured: “Lola.” 

A moment later Mrs. Smith raised a piteous cry ; 


15 


“Oh, doctor, he was the kindest, gentlest soul that 
ever lived, and now he is dead!’’ 

Poor George Brown! Poor “old Brown!’’ He had 
taken the Love Experience that had come to him so late 
nearer to heart than anyone knew or dreamed, and with 
its death the slender thread that held him to life had 
snapped in two. 





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